


and I still bring him that towel

by weary



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, first person point of view Will, so he cant walk too good, will probably got into some accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 04:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14011950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weary/pseuds/weary
Summary: Little thing I wrote not taking into consideration that anyone would read it, though here it is.-Will can't walk so well. And Hannibal is obviously out of character because, well, he comes home a mess.





	and I still bring him that towel

If I had to say whether this would do me good in some slow unnoticeable way then maybe perhaps it would. If believed hard enough. 

Hannibal spends most of his hours away from the house, leaving me behind like a dollar bill out of a rich mans pocket. He comes back smelling like copper and the release of death and I always offer him a towel just at the front door because I can tell when he’s just arrived and when he’s just arrived he’s always in a bad mood. He treads blood all over the carpet, and apologizes because he knows I’ll have to pick the color out for the next one and it stresses me out to do so. 

I’ve gotten worse at standing. He’s noticed. He’s noticed it even before the guests came. And when they came they gasped at how I tripped on air and fell and Hannibal had to pick me up like some child and apologize because of me. Again. The ol’ fool. 

So, he tells me not to stand. And I still bring him that towel. 

In bed he kisses the scar on the back of my left knee and asks me to stay in bed but I always say no. I can see the slight twitch in him. So always aggravated. I’ve proudly ignored him and he gives me this look and kisses my forehead and rolls over, giving me his back. “You’ll stay in bed.” 

The next day there are butterflies in the back garden and I sketch them as they flap their wings, trying to look as graceful as possible but in reality the poor creatures always look as though they are struggling. I show Hannibal what I’ve drawn and he frames it and hangs it on one of the kitchen walls. I haven’t signed my name but it shouldn’t matter. We both know the artist. 

I begin to draw Hannibal from time to time. Usually when he’s calm and sat on his reading chair.

I draw him sleeping too. I stay up and wait till he sleeps. Just so I can draw him. 

I brought him a towel today and he carried me to the living room and asked that I do not stand. It’s late in the morning, and he showers and I wait for him and I do not understand anything these days. 

These hours. 

I hear his steps as they make their way downstairs, quite like bells chiming up to anticipation, a climax of sorts. I watch him as he stands by the doorway, and he watches me watch him. And we watch each other.


End file.
